


another cog in the murder machine

by murphysarc



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e08 God Complex, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, but i felt like i had to tag it so dont worry too much about that, ok the "death" isn't literal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 14:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11853498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murphysarc/pseuds/murphysarc
Summary: after clarke injects the nightblood into herself, she frees murphy and has to face the consequences. bellamy’s a little better at it, to say the least.tag to 4x08. canon compliant except that bellamy is at the lab as well (because he should have been). title from “teenagers” by my chemical romance.





	another cog in the murder machine

**Author's Note:**

> the roman numerals missed you, too.

**i.**

_ The howl that rips from his throat is inhumane, much like himself.  _

_ It’s full of malice and pain, full of everything he’s contained inside himself for years. Murphy’s chest tightens as he roars, sound building until he has nothing left to give. He falls silent, then, not even his tears making any noise. _

_ Because here he is, once more, alone, the only person to never abandon him dead. He feels as if he is hanged, but it is now he truly cannot breathe. _

_ Emori is dead. By now, she must be. _

_ He shakes, but he does not feel it. He’s empty, now.  _

_ His body shakes, falling backwards, leaning against the wall he’s tied to. At this angle, the ties bite into his already bitten wrists, drawing more blood. The seeping red liquid runs down his arm, as if a reminder that it is not black and never will be. _

 

**ii.**

There is a commotion, or something, from the other side of the wall. He can’t bring himself to listen as a woman begins screaming.

It doesn’t sound like Emori, but he figures he wouldn’t sound much like himself, either, if enough radiation to kill an army was seeping into his bones. 

She’s suffering. She’s in pain, and dying, probably dead. He’s mere meters away, and he has done nothing to stop it. 

 

**iii.**

The ties are a weapon of their own, slicing the bleeding wounds on his wrists whenever he shifts. His blood drips onto the floor, keeping in tune with his beating heart.

He’s still shaking. It may be from shock, stress, or blood loss, but he thinks he’s simply lost the will to contain himself.

 

**iv.**

When the doors finally slide open, he doesn’t notice. 

“Holy shit,” someone says. Murphy’s not sure who it is - his eyes are still closed, any drive to keep them open long since gone. 

A second seems to pass but it’s probably far more, because suddenly there’s a presence next to him. Someone’s undoing the ties around his wrists. When they open, he lets his arms fall downwards without hesitation. They’re only more weight he doesn’t need.

“Murphy,” the voice says. “Hey, look at me.”

His eyes open at the mention of his name. The voice is feminine. In his state, he hopes for a moment it’s Emori, but instead he’s greeted by a halo of blonde hair that has never looked so menacing. 

“What?” he says, pleased at how biting it sounds. “Come to kill me next?”

Clarke’s lips purse, her nostrils flare, but she says nothing. Instead, she gingerly starts looking at his wrists, examining the wounds that she caused, but there are only so many of those that she can see.

The longer she’s there, uncomfortably close, the faster his heart races, the angrier he grows. “Don’t touch me,” he says, but it’s more of a whisper.

She’s still there, stealing the light, taking up the spotlight as she always does.

“Don’t  _ touch _ me.” Louder, now.

Clarke doesn’t know how to take a  _ hint _ , it’s like she doesn’t understand that she’s killed two people today - 

“I said,  _ don’t fucking touch me!” _ Murphy roars, now, again in that low, inhumane way. She flinches, letting go, drawing back into herself and backing away. 

“I’m trying to help-”

“Clarke,” someone says, but they’re blocked out of view, and Murphy doesn’t really give a damn, anyways. Instead, he lets his head loll to the side and then he’s gone.

 

**v.**

A lot of people like to call Murphy selfish, only looking out for himself, but here’s the thing that they don’t understand - 

Murphy will never die the hero.

If he were to die, no matter the circumstance, they’d remember him as  _ the one who never quite redeemed himself _ . If he were to try to redeem himself, no matter what he’s done, they’d call him  _ the one who’s trying just a bit too hard. _

He’ll forever be  _ the one we can’t trust _ ,  _ the one who was a bit of a dick _ , _ the one who killed 2 people, nevermind the fact we’ve killed thousands -  _

Emori, though, she makes him better, makes him  _ do _ better, but now she’s dead, and he’s afraid they’ll remember him as  _ the one who gave up. _

 

**vi.**

“I’m gone for a few hours, and this is what happens,” a voice next to his ear mutters. Then, suddenly, Murphy’s being lifted bridal style, head securely resting against someone’s shoulder and while he really should open his eyes and figure out who’s got him and where he’s going, he doesn’t want to let his newfound feeling of safety go.

 

**vii.**

When he wakes, Bellamy is next to him. 

He’s on the bed Clarke was sleeping on only a night ago, and while this makes him uncomfortable, the curiosity of why Bellamy is there winning out as his dominant emotion. He shifts, slightly, only now noticing that both his wrists have been wrapped and bandaged - 

Emori is dead.

This time, though, he does not collapse. He only aches.

“Murphy,” Bellamy says, noticing him shift. “You doing alright?”

Murphy just lets out a low sigh, forcing himself to sit up, despite how lightheaded he feels. “Sure.”

Bellamy sighs, low. “I...I can’t believe they did that, to be honest. I’m sorry, I wish I had gotten here sooner.”

“I thought you were going back to Arkadia.” He can’t talk about what Clarke did, not right now.

“I was going to,” Bellamy says, “but this is more important.”

Murphy nods. He understands - like it or not, Bellamy is also a fearless leader. At least he’s one that doesn’t go around murdering people Murphy loves.

“Clarke wants to talk to you, if you’re up for that.”

“I never want to speak to Clarke Griffin again,” he replies, instantly, completely deadpan, completely honest.

Bellamy nods, as if he could possibly understand. “Yeah. I know. But I think you’ll want to hear her out.”

Murphy turns, then, to lock his eyes with Bellamy’s. “I  _ begged _ her not to, you know. I pleaded. I tried to make her feel sorry for me, I begged, I reminded Clarke she was going to kill the only person I have loved who has loved me back, and Clarke went ahead and did it. I do  _ not _ want to see her.”

His rant is met with a slight nod, silence, and then, “I understand, but I still...you should let her come in.”

Murphy doesn’t reply to this, but instead, “thank you,” is all he can manage.

 

**viii.**

_ “We’re survivors, John,” Emori once told him. “That’s what’s got us this far.” _

_ “I know,” he had replied. “But maybe...maybe life should be about more than just survival.” _

_ “Should it?” _

_ “Yeah...don’t we deserve better than that?” _

_ What a fucking joke. _

 

**ix.**

Bellamy leaves. There is no bad blood between them. For a moment, Murphy feels a little safer than he did before.

But then Clarke enters the room and sits where Bellamy had just been seated, and well, all of that goes out the window.

“What do you want?” he says, his voice dangerously low. “Here to tie me down again? Better yet, here to kill me?”

Despite this, Clarke’s eyes are soft. “Murphy, Emori’s not dead.”

His eyes widen, adrenaline seeping into his limbs as he sits completely straight. “What?”

“She’s still asleep - the sedative hasn’t worn off yet, but it will very soon. I didn’t...I didn’t give her any nightblood.”

The relief is so extreme that Murphy feels weak and dizzy all over again, but he will never let it show, not to Clarke. “I don’t understand.”

“You were right,” she says. “I was wrong. I was selfish. I injected the nightblood into myself, but my mom destroyed the radiation chamber before we could test it.”

At this, Murphy can’t help but feel a little upset. Abby was willing to destroy the machine for Clarke, but not for Emori, and while he completely understands it’s still a sting. 

“Right,” he says. “I, um. Alright.”

“I’m sorry, Murphy,” Clarke says, and then she is gone.

 

**x.**

_ Praimfaya is here. The world burns. Fire lights the skies as well as the reflections in their eyes. _

_ Radiation seeps into his skin, digging its talons into his entire being, wrapping around him so tightly he sinks to the ground along with the others. They’ve failed. They’re done, even Clarke, because of course the nightblood doesn’t work, because why would anything work out for them. _

_ Maybe the bunker’s safe. Maybe it isn’t. _

_ Emori is gone first, her hand falling out of his, dead. Bellamy manages to give him one last look, full of so many unsaid words, before his eyes slip shut and he falls. _

_ The howl that rips from his throat is inhumane, but that is much like they all were. _

**Author's Note:**

> haha okay i genuinely do not know what this is supposed to reveal/study but?? i think it does...something like that
> 
> anyways...despite this messy thing, hope you're having a fantastic day/night!! lots of love <3


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